


Ever After

by corvidae9



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 11:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10161986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidae9/pseuds/corvidae9
Summary: The High Inquisitor’s happily ever after cuts into that of the Hero of Ferelden, but the Warden has never been the kind of woman to accept defeat without a fight.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Includes Dragon Age Origins and Inquisition spoilers; based on backstory involving a city elf Warden and a Dalish Inquisitor. What began as unabashed wish fulfillment shmoop turned into a long complicated tale of badass women bonding over animals, killing bad guys in parallel, and the weight of being big damn heroes. (elf rogue Warden/Alistair, elf rogue Inquisitor/Cullen; various Origins characters)

Yet another undignified titter ran through the collection of elven women, whilst the woman seated cross-legged in the center of the cheerful mob furiously did something she didn’t realize she was still capable of doing.

“I mean-- he is a rather… _large_ shem. Comparatively,” said a young, blonde woman with an audible smile. She had been focusing on braiding flowers into the guest of honor’s short, auburn hair, but stopped to gesture emphatically with a bright yellow blossom. “But also objectively. My goodness, those shoulders! What do they feed those Templars?”

“I heard he’s her general,” said a distinctive voice --the clan’s senior hunter-- with a snort. “Certainly worked out how to marshal his forces impressively, eh?” 

The tittering, for Mythal’s sake.

Inquisitor Naveera Lavellan, commander-in-chief of forces rivaling that of any in Thedas, veteran of a hundred pitched battles with demons and possessed templars, rogue mages and darkspawn; a serious woman long considered grown, and respected former hunter of the clan, blushed an even more violent shade of crimson as she endured the traditional ribbing from the women of her clan. She was, however, smiling as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Good thing you’re too old to want babies, Naveera,” said another woman cradling an infant whose pointy ears seemed almost as large as his head. “No one is apt to chase him out for being a shem.”

“Hold on now, I’m not _that_ old--” Naveera tried to interject.

“ _Da’len_ , you’ll need an extra halla or two to pull your _aravel_ \--” said a wrinkled elder, and Naveera’s own grandmother, “--to account for his weapon alone!” The tittering became hooting and her aged, venerable grandmamae laughed so hard, she needed water to ease the coughing that ensued shortly afterward.

“Alright, I’ll talk,” Naveera nearly shouted. Generally the woman at the center of attention would blush and play coy while the rest made increasingly ribald jokes at her expense until she came clean with a detailed history of her relationship with her intended. Naveera had held out a whole three hours or so into the evening, which was a stellar effort; it usually took an hour to get to the good jokes, and the women were starting to scrape the bottom of the barrel now. Naveera was not sorry-- partially because she was still acclimating to being home with her clan, and partially because she had always held her personal dealings close.

“Cullen is a good, sweet, honorable man who has been at my side through all of the madness of the Inquisition,” she began somewhat formally as required, “and I would be honored if Clan Lavellan would accept him as one of their own.” Then, she added with a smirk, “He also has a good eye for sturdy furniture and is capable of great feats of stamina.”

A combination of cheering, squealing and hearty, honest laughter shook the tent poles and the blonde elf, clearly in charge of the bride’s well-being, handed her a goblet of thick, sweet wine.

“Keep talking, cousin-- we’ve got enough to last all night.”

###

The trees were wound with gauze, ribbon and strips and chunks of brightly colored cloth, creating semi-permeable barriers in a maze that led Naveera away from the group of equally brightly colored women. Never in her youth had she been the type to imagine walking the path herself, and yet here she was… and there _he_ was, too-- in elaborate, hastily-made elven-style finery that strained pleasantly against his large, human (admittedly well-built) body. He strode toward her down his own corridor of fabric and ribbons, ducking his head to strain and see through the gaps in the makeshift dividers.

“Naveera?” he called, and the men behind him bellowed and called out for him to keep moving. In true Cullen fashion, he ignored them and walked right up to the flimsy fabric separating them and made a better window through which he could better peer.

“Good, finally, it _is_ you! Listen, your fam… dear Andraste, you are beautiful.”

She laughed, low and amused. Her hair was a wild mass of flowers and frippery and she was wearing an inherited promise dress, an affair that combined too many flowing parts and too many buckles for currently nonexistent weapons with a very low, non-utilitarian neckline. A rough stripe of green paint flowed from one temple to the other across her eyelids, and despite all else, her beloved boots were still strapped to her tiny feet.

“Hello.”

Cullen sputtered and began to yank at the ribbons that separated them, and Naveera rushed up to stop his hands.

“No! You have to make it to the end-- it’s a parallel path, like our lives before. It’s all very weighty and meaningful and Dalish.”

The look he gave her was pure, unadulterated, pathetic longing.

“That’s not fair. If I had actually seen you earlier in my parallel path, I would have done the same, you know,” he said, plucking at a strand of silver cloth between them.

Naveera was not answering. She was busy staring at his face.

“What have you done?” she asked, moving her hand to his right cheekbone, gently running her thumb across the new marks that almost exactly mirrored the left half of hers.

He had the grace to look a little abashed though he smiled as he spoke.

“Keeper Deshanna said that sometimes when outsiders marry --err, _promise_ \-- in, they can choose to take some version of the family’s marks, their _vallaslin?_ Did I say that correctly? There were several gentlemen there that took exception to a _shemlen_ taking them --not many-- but then your brother supported it by reminding them that my troops saved the clan, and I thought--”

Overwhelmed, Naveera stopped him with a long, slow kiss. Cullen’s hand wound through and under a ribbon and caught her waist and it wasn’t for a long while that the shouts and whistles from beyond finally gained their attention again.

“They’re permanent, you know,” Naveera breathed, setting her forehead against his.

“I’m aware, madam,” Cullen smiled. He’d been doing a lot of that lately.

Naveera was speechless, wanting nothing more than to pull down the fabric and ribbons and drag him off. And then a pipcorn struck her between the shoulderblades, followed by another at her elbow. Cullen unnecessarily shielded the back of her head with his hand as one pegged him square on the backside.

“Hey!” he shouted, but Naveera could only laugh. She could hear the clan shouting back good-natured things like, “Walk the path already!” and “Get on with it! We have other things to attend to, you know!”

“You heard them,” she said, grinning. Another struck her thigh and she yelped, pulling away from Cullen and taking a quick step back lest he drag her in again and subject her to further pipcorn attack.

“As you say, Inquisitor,” he rumbled, stepping away from the makeshift divide, still grinning. Naveera’s heart quite literally leapt in her chest.

 Finally, she managed to move forward. She struggled to contemplate her life as intended while not running, pointedly not assisted by the fact that she could catch occasional glimpses of Cullen through the maze.

When they met at the end, Keeper Deshanna had to clear his throat three times and finally step away for several minutes for fear of being pelted in the hail of pipcorns before he could get on with the ceremony.

The party went on until the wee hours, including the Inquisition forces that had escorted them all from the clan’s new home in Wycome and that were now ringed around the Dalish encampment, celebrating in shifts well into the following day. Naveera and Cullen however had escaped to a newly-built, multicolored _aravel_ set off from the main group at the edge of the riverbank not long after midnight.

As she began to unwind and unpin flowers from Cullen’s hair and clothes, Naveera smiled. “So you’ve not only met my clan, you’ve been adopted.”

“That’s a mercy, because once you meet my sister at Skyhold for the next one, we may both want to run right back to them,” he said with a rueful grin, tugging on her wrist to pull her into his lap. “Worse yet, you might get along.”

“Right;” laughed Naveera, peeling his shirt buttons open. “Josephine’s party will indeed be a hundred times worse.”

“As long as no one pelts me with those blasted little _things_ and I don’t have to tell embarrassing stories about exactly how and when I knew I was an absolute fool for my superior officer…”

“How much of a fool, then?” Naveera asked, eyes narrowed. She started to draw the corner of her lip between her teeth with a smirk, but the move was interrupted abruptly as Cullen picked her up without ceremony and set her on the bed. His hand trailed up her hip and he leaned in.

“Please. Allow me to demonstrate.”

###

_"For the Wardens!"_ Crowley shouted, sinking her double daggers into the giant spider's pile of eyes with finality, pinning it momentarily to the muck of the faux fen before kicking it off of her blades. This Inquisitor may or may not have saved all of Thedas by now, but the bitch had much for which to answer.

Crowley had no idea how long she had been in the Fade at this point. A day? Three? A month? A year? She stopped occasionally to study the amulet that hung on her chest carefully, but she knew there wasn’t much time, if there was time at all. All she knew was that Alistair had been abandoned by the Inquisition somewhere in this cursed place, and alive or dead, she was not leaving until she found him.

The dead spider rolled to a stop not more than three feet away from where she stood and then melted into the shape of a broken man, cloudy blue eyes open and staring. Crowley had to turn away, even though she knew it was a trick. She’d seen his lifeless body over and over again since she had arrived in this cursed not-place, and yet it wrenched her every time.

“You found me-- I can’t believe you found me,” came a voice from a nearby cairn, and Crowley nearly jumped out of her skin. She had to be cautious here in the Fade, and that really did not sound like Alistair, but a flutter of hope still stirred in her belly.

“Who are you?” she called out. “Show yourself.” A man stepped into view-- sandy-haired, tall, the correct shape and size.

“I’m who you’re looking for, aren’t I?” said the thing. Crowley suppressed a wave of crushing disappointment followed closely by anger. She should close on it and kill it immediately, but it was wearing _his_ face.

“No,” Crowley said with icy calm. She checked the amulet Morrigan had given her and found it glowing no more brightly than it had been a moment ago. “You really aren’t. Whatever you are.”

“Pity,” said the thing, sliding toward her with unnatural undulations. “We could have been such g--”

Crowley didn’t let it finish. She leapt upon it, daggers out, stabbing deep into its softest parts. The thing gurgled and staggered, and she delivered a single, mighty deathblow with a new shout.

_“For Alistair, you bastards!”_

A faraway screech was the only sound in response, and Crowley turned away from the thing, angrily scrubbed at her cheeks and set off in the direction that caused the amulet to glow brightest.

###

“Inquisitor!”

Naveera had been nearly done bidding farewell to her family and patting the halla, helping pack _aravels_ and not bothering to feign disinterest in yet another small plate or sack or hamper of offerings ‘for the road’. Their own wagon would stay with the clan back in Wycome, but she had plenty of pack animals along for the troops, and Josephine would probably be very put out if there were no more of the rare, delicate, leaf-shaped biscuits by the time they got back to Skyhold. It was then that the messenger arrived from some unknown direction-- one of Leliana’s people, by the looks of him.

“Inquisitor-- news, Your Worship.” He glanced pointedly at the clan members that began to slip away.

"Report,” Naveera responded automatically.

“Ser, a Fade rift has been discovered in the mountains not far from where Haven stood; the Nightingale sent a small force to secure the area until you could turn your attention to closing it, but--” he paused. “It was already being guarded by a mabari hound, a mad dwarven Warden, and a golem.”

The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow. “Say again?”

“A rift has bee--”

Naveera held a hand up to stop him. “Just the last part-- a dog, a dwarf, and a golem, you said?”

“Yes, ser. The Nightingale also wanted you to know that she is personally heading to the location of this rift as well, and wishes to meet you there at your earliest convenience.” He handed her a crude yet serviceable map of the area.

That gave Naveera pause. Leliana, the Nightingale and her spymaster, clearly knew more than she had sent with the messenger if she was going to the rift herself; the message was really “get your inquisitorial arse here immediately”.

“Thank you-- I am on my way directly.”

“Your Worship,” the messenger said with a slight bow by way of leave and faded away into the bustle of the camp.

“Trouble?” came the deep, familiar voice behind her, and Naveera was suddenly fighting to suppress the heat rising up her throat in order to remain serene. Cullen slipped his arm over her shoulder and across her torso and she leaned gratefully into his broad frame.

“Of course,” she sighed, holding up the map so he could see it. “A rift being guarded by a pack of misfits, and Leliana heading into the field because of it. And that’s all I know.”

“Leliana-- what?” Cullen tensed. “I thought we had the rifts under control.”

“Apparently, we were mistaken,” Naveera answered, tilting her head at the map. “I imagine this was difficult to find, based on the location.” She sighed. “I’m riding out to meet her. I suppose I should send you on to Wycome and then home to Skyhold with the troops, but--”

“Right, that is not happening, Your Worship,” Cullen answered decisively. “I will put Michel in charge of the men heading back, we will have a group follow us to meet up at the rift as soon as they can, and I will ensure that your brute of an animal is saddled, packed and ready within the hour.”

Naveera nodded and let her head fall against his shoulder. “I will gladly accept your good counsel, Commander Rutherford.” It was common sense not to travel alone, but any of her soldiers would have come with her willingly. Taking the Inquisition’s general with her was somewhat selfish, but the troops were in good hands and she was not ready to let him out of her sight. Just then, he snapped her out of her comfortable reverie by leaning in and nibbling on her exposed neck. She loosed a very non-inquisitorial giggle and pulled away with a playful, flailing slap to his retreating arm.

“As you were, ser!” she said, not able to pull an entirely straight face.

He didn’t look sorry at all. Instead, he flashed a crooked smile in her direction and offered a half-bow.

“My lady.”

Naveera watched him walk away, suffused with warmth and giddy happiness, not to mention the fresh conviction that she was being a silly girl, and yet she was still not able to pull together that coveted straight face. Ridiculous. She cleared her throat, straightened her jacket and headed for her pack, her armor, and her knives in preparation for the ride.

###

Crowley crested a hill of bones and found herself looking out over a foggy plain dotted with jagged rocks, unnamed carcasses, and twisted vegetation. With no idea of which direction was which, or if there even were fixed directions in the Fade, she had taken to referring to the direction that the amulet glowed the brightest as ‘North’. Here, ‘North’ was what appeared to be path across the plain angled to her right, and after the short pause to verify, Crowley followed.

“Warden,” came a voice so faint, she struggled to decide whether it came within her own head until she heard it again.  Crowley half-crouched and circled, seeking the source of the sound.

“The demons seek to make your Alistair their own, and he has fought them off so far.” The disembodied voice sounded familiar, yet not. “But he will not hold out forever.”

“Show yourself!” Crowley growled. A vaguely human shape shimmered violet in the direction she had been moving.

“Neither of you have been selfish enough as of late, it would appear,” said the shade. “One agreeing to leave the other for an indefinite period of time; one agreeing to stay in the Fade to save what amount to strangers-- “

“I don’t have time for your tricks and recriminations, demon,” said Crowley, though the digs did sting. “Stand aside or fall.”

The spirit drifted closer.

“This is not a trick or a recrimination, child-- merely an observation.”

“Everything I did, I did for us both!” Crowley shouted before she could stop herself. “Everything. And now none of it matters to _me_ unless I can get to _him_. Nothing.” Her glittering blades were already in hand and she circled carefully, ready to strike. “Selfish enough?”

The purple mist disappeared and the voice resumed speaking from somewhere behind her in its maddeningly familiar voice. 

“Remember that this is the Fade. Your rules are your own.” Crowley spun to face the voice and found the violet specter rushing at her. She had no time to strike or move out of the way before she was being shoved-- dragged really-- at top speed along the plain for what seemed no more than a minute before being sent sprawling at the foot of another hill. The spirit coalesced again as she regained her footing warily.

“You will move as quickly or as slowly as you choose to, Warden. Quickly would be better.”

 The misty form vanished entirely, and Crowley checked the amulet and her surroundings to find she was still heading in the correct direction but had apparently traversed the entirety of the plain. She paused and thought about what the spirit had said, sheathed her weapons and began to run, willing herself to move faster than she ever had, and the scenery began to blur as she sped past it.

A whisper that sounded like _“Quickwits McSmartypants”_ drifted across the plain, but the Warden was running too fast to hear it. If the spirit hadn’t been lying, Alistair was still alive, and she had one thought racing through her mind.

_Hold on._

###

Naveera reined in her enormous battle nug. Its oddly dextrous bulk came up on two elephantine rear feet for a moment with a loud, honking snort, then landed with a _thud_ on the rocky ground. She patted the rough, gray skin of his thick neck fondly and dismounted with as much grace as possible after the long ride.

“Well done, Ser Nuggsalot,” she said, offering the beast one of two apples she had retrieved from his saddlebags. “Stay here where you’re safe; I don’t want to you turned into an enormous slab of bacon.” He took it from her with another snort, then offered a headbutt to her middle that actually staggered her a step. Naveera barked a laugh and turned away to find Cullen watching her with a raised eyebrow, still atop his horse.

“...Nuggsalot?” he asked, incredulous.

“Shut up.”

“You named the thing _Ser Nuggsalot_.”

“I did.” She took a huge, crunching bite of her own apple. “Problem?”

“No, no, of course not.” Cullen waved it off with a snort and began to dismount, still muttering. “You, _The_ Inquisitor, have eschewed some of Ferelden’s finest warhorses in favor of an overgrown, horned swine, and you named him Ser Nuggsalot. That is clearly not a problem.”

“You should see him run down bandits!” She slid up behind him noiselessly and stood on tiptoe to whisper, “Besides, I’ve spent more time in the past year riding him than you; if you want that to change I would suggest you be nicer about him.” 

Cullen flushed a deep, hot, pink, but by the time he rounded on her, Naveera had pulled the infernal disappearing trick and was already walking some twenty feet away, finishing her apple while examining the map and giving instructions to the two scouts that had ridden along ahead of them.

“Alright,” she said with a nod as the scouts rushed off into the mountains again. She tossed aside her apple core, drew the nastiest of the two blades sheathed upon her back, and beckoned back to him. “It should be just over that rise. The scouts say that Leliana arrived this morning and the rift is indeed being held at bay by a warden, a golem, and a mabari, however, they are also still politely declining to allow our troops near the rift either. A strange situation, to say the least. Coming, Commander?”

He was stalking in her direction, staring. The look on his face would have been a cross between alarming and arousing if not for the comical finger extended in her direction. Cullen shot a look to where the scouts had disappeared as if to ensure that they were gone, and then said in a quiet voice, “That was a low blow.”

“Yes,” Naveera shot a look in the same direction reflexively, then decided she didn’t care. She hooked a finger in the front of his breastplate and tugged him down until his face was level with hers. “Be nice to my brute of a creature and we won’t have this problem again.” With a smirk, she kissed him one last time, released him and tightened her grip on her dagger.  “Rift.”

“Indeed.” Cullen did not appear amused, but based on that kiss, it was a sham.

The Inquisitor squared her shoulders and began the short trek over the rise. The familiar sickly green glow began to tint the landscape and Naveera tensed as the Mark on her hand began to pulse in tune with the jagged hole in reality before them. She caught sight of the warriors she had mentally categorized as ‘misfits’ standing too near the rift for her comfort, ringed by a group of Inquisition soldiers equally too far. As she and Cullen came up on the line of soldiers and were recognized, a quiet chorus of “Commander” and “Your Worship” spread from where they had entered the rough circle. She approached the rift and nodded to what was indeed a huge stone golem and a diminutive yet entirely solid dwarven warrior, clearly a Warden.

“Thank you and well-met, friends. I can take it from here.” She lifted her Marked hand to the rift and found herself immediately grabbed and dangling by the same wrist, with the golem looking into her eyes.

“I’m afraid we can’t allow you to close this rift, Inquisitor,” said the golem calmly.

A commotion had erupted all around them with Cullen shouting and the dwarf shouting back and the troops stirring, along with the distinct sound of the unseen mabari growling and the faraway and apparently misplaced soothing tones of Leliana’s voice. If the golem had wanted to swat her away, it could have, but instead Naveera was unhurt and merely dangling. She made what she hoped was the correct decision and awkwardly managed to sheath her one exposed weapon.

“Stand down!” she bellowed with authority, craning her neck around to try and make eye contact with Cullen. It was no good, as he and the dwarf were busy menacing one another. “Now!” she tried again, then looked back at the golem. “Might you put me back on the ground where we could discuss this?”

The golem made a move that looked a bit like a shrug and set her down less gently than she would have liked, but no real harm was done. Leliana ran up, hands out in a peacekeeping gesture. Her lilting accent carried across the narrow valley.

“Inquisitor, my apologies-- this is Shale,” she said, indicating the golem, “and Warden Oghren,” this time the dwarf, who still looked as though he wanted to bash in Cullen’s kneecaps, which was fair since Cullen was sporting about the same look but aiming higher up. Leliana’s voice dropped so that only the immediate company could hear her now. “Friends and traveling companions of the Hero of Ferelden.”

Naveera’s eyebrows shot up and she finally turned her attention to her spymaster. “Is she here?” Oghren finally dismissed Cullen with a sneer and spoke directly to the Inquisitor. Loudly, while brandishing his axe for emphasis.

“In a manner of speaking, aye, though she’d be here to pulp you properly if it weren’t for you to begin with.”

“I beg y--” began Cullen, but Naveera cut him off, her face ashen.

“Alistair,” she said with certainty. Just saying the Warden’s name made her stomach drop, and she could hear his final battle cry as he covered her retreat from the Fade echoing in her mind.

“Yes,” said Leilana.

“You left him to rot,” said Oghren, “and our Crowley is in there retrievin’ him. So your little _mark_ en’t coming anywhere near that rift thing.” He belched loudly then spat near her feet for further emphasis. “Not ‘till they both come home one way or another.”

“Warden Tabris is in the rift? In the Fade? How?” Naveera asked in a rush.

Leliana held a hand up to stop Oghren from answering and gestured in the direction from which she had come. “Perhaps it would be better to show you.”

“Bah,” said Oghren, shaking his axe one last time before hefting it onto his back. “You do that, Birdie.”

“We shall continue to mind the rift,” said the golem Shale. “And would rather not be disturbed, but will indeed come to blows if necessary. In fact, we destroyed a pack of rage demons just yesterday. I imagined they were pigeons and it was-- satisfying.”

“...Alright, then.” Naveera took her leave with a nod and followed after Leliana. She could hear Oghren muttering what sounded like, “Crowley could take her,” and thought for a moment that if even half of the stories about the Hero were correct, he might be right. Cullen glared at them all and reluctantly followed along. Leliana spoke quietly as they approached what appeared to be a small encampment set against the mountainside.

“After the debacle at Adamant, it was I that spoke with Morrigan. Though she and I were never close, we both spent more time than I care to recall fighting alongside Crowley and Alistair. I didn’t have to tell Morrigan what Alistair’s… loss would do to Crowley. So--” she sighed. “Knowing the difficulty I encountered attempting to contact her the first time, I asked Morrigan if there was any way she could at least inform her. It seemed the right thing to do.” Leliana shot a look at Cullen and lowered her voice even further. “It is also a little known fact that Alistair is her son Kieran’s father.”

Naveera was dumbfounded. “I thought Morrigan and Alistair couldn’t stand one another,” she said. “And he and Crowley--”

“All of the above,” said Leilana with a rueful smile. “It was an arrangement of necessity-- Morrigan needed a Warden with whom to conceive a child and carry out the ritual that slayed the Archdemon without killing a Warden; Crowley and Alistair wanted to outlive the Archdemon together. I don’t have to tell you that life is often a messy affair.”

The large, brownish rock stationed near a makeshift shelter under a tree stirred and lifted its head, revealing itself to be a mabari. It fixed its attention on Naveera and growled, low and threatening. Leliana held her hand out to pat the huge dog’s shoulder.

“Inquisitor Naveera Lavellan, please meet Meatball, also known as Barkspawn, valiant warrior, veteran of the Fifth Blight, and Warden Tabris’ loyal friend. Meatball, this is Naveera, and you probably remember Cullen. Despite Oghren’s propaganda, they are good friends and allies. Would you give them a chance for me?”

The mabari spared a look for Leliana before resuming his baleful glare. Naveera crouched and held her hand out to him.

“Pleased to meet you, ser,” she said. She could hear Cullen muttering a greeting, but focused instead on the mabari. As he rose to his feet, so did she, but they were still not far from eye level with one another. After another moment of hesitation he bumped her hand with his huge, wet nose, chuffed in Cullen’s direction, and then turned away. He moved a few feet into the tent, turned in three circles and collapsed somewhat gingerly then set his head on what appeared to be a bundle of some kind. Naveera’s eyes widened and she too moved forward. Meatball lifted his head and growled again.

“It’s alright, boy,” she said. “I mean no harm. I’m here to help.”

It was the damndest thing-- Naveera got the impression that he understood her completely but he was going to be watching her closely nonetheless, all from a whine of warning and the look on his face. Remarkable. Still more remarkable however was the bundle upon which he had placed his head.

“It’s her.” Naveera crouched again and touched the still, pale cheek of the legendary Hero of Ferelden, looking very much just like any average sleeping elven woman wrapped in a blanket and being watched over by her dog. A warm, steady blue glow came from an amulet on her chest, and Meatball whined again.

“Maker’s Breath. I remember her being… bigger.” Cullen said quietly. He exhaled heavily as he squeezed Naveera’s shoulder. She reached up to catch his hand.

“How long has she been here?”

“Oghren says they’ve been camped here several weeks now,” Leliana answered, crouching down beside her. “Evidently, Morrigan not only contacted her, but gave her that amulet. It allowed her to remain asleep in order to walk the Fade consciously, much as a mage might, and to preserve her earthly body while she does so. Morrigan knew that if anyone could find Alistair alive, it would be her. And if anyone would be willing to take the risks involved with doing so, it would also be her. Neither however told me any of this beforehand.” She reached out and took Crowley’s limp hand for a moment, then tucked it under the blanket with care. “I wish they had.

“Crowley gathered those associates she could locate quickly, traveled to the only rift that you had not yet closed, and set to it. The plan is for her to find him, travel to the Fade mirror of this rift together, send Alistair through it, and then for Crowley to wake. And the only way to know whether there is still a chance that either or both of them will return unharmed is that she continues to breathe here.” Leliana sighed again and absently began to scratch Meatball’s ear. “So, Oghren, Shale and Meatball will not be moved until they come back… or until she stops breathing.”

“Nor shall we,” declared Naveera.

“I hoped that might be the case.” Leliana nodded. “I had field tents set up for us when I found out what was going on here. They’re at the center of the Inquisition camp on the far rise.”

“And I had a squad follow us,” Cullen informed Leliana. “They should arrive tomorrow. Along with the men already here, they can help patrol the rift and give the dwarf and golem some relief.”

Naveera placed a hand on Crowley’s shoulder and murmured “ _Dareth Shiral_ , sister-- safe journeys,” and then stood, making to meet Oghren and Shale once again.

“Warden Oghren,” she began. Oghren leapt to, hand upon his axe.

  
“I told you once, Fancy-- you’re not closing this rift.”

“I hear you and it’s the last thing on my mind” Naveera said, hands up. “When was the last time you slept and had a hot meal?”

Oghren eyed her warily. “What’s it to you?”

Naveera saluted him across her chest with a slight bow. “I personally pledge myself and whatever of the Inquisition’s resources necessary to assist in guarding this rift until the Warden returns. If you will allow it, you stand relieved and are welcome to the resources of our camp.”

He exchanged a look with Shale.

“Even your kind do need to rest occasionally,” said Shale.

“The Inquisitor’s word is good, Oghren,” said Leliana from behind her shoulder. “And it’s possible the men stowed a cask of good ale somewhere in the supply wagon.”

“Nice try, Birdie, but leaving this--” he gestured with disgust at Naveera, “--rabbit in charge seems like a bad idea.”

The insult registered, but Naveera did not rise to it. Put in his position she might not be altogether generous with politesse either. Instead, she nodded.

“I have much for which to atone, Warden. Please. Allow me.”

Oghren stared at her a long moment, grumbled, “Watch her,” in Shale’s direction, and then headed without further discussion in the direction of camp. Leliana sighed and with a nod to the Inquisitor, followed him. Bristling, Cullen turned his attention to Naveera, voice pitched low.

“Men die in battle, Inquisitor. If we can help save Warden Alistair, then we should, but there is no ‘atonement’ necessary. Soldiers know what they are being asked to do.”

“Cullen. Crowley and Alistair are his friends, and reciting to him a soldier’s duty will not stop him from needing someone to blame. I am the head of the Inquisition, I made the decision that brought us here. Let me make such reparations as I can without worrying about what I choose to call them.”

He appeared unconvinced, but finally threw his hands up in surrender.

“Understood, Your Worship. I will have a rotation set up to relieve you at sunset.”

“Thank you, Commander,” she said with a nod. Cullen saluted her and stalked off.

Naveera took Oghren’s vacated place next to Shale. The golem regarded her with open curiosity. After a long minute, the golem asked, “Praytell, what are your feelings on pigeons?”

###

Crowley stopped to examine the amulet again, slowly turning it over to ensure that she was indeed moving in the correct direction. A slight course correction set it to burning brighter than ever, and suddenly it didn’t matter that she had been running what seemed an endless race-- hope blazed brightly in her chest. She called out his name, heedless as to what else it might attract.

“Alistair!”

Nothing. But no matter, she was off again. Just as she reached a zenith of speed, she hit something that could only be described as an invisible wall and bounced off with great violence, landing in a sprawl.

“Were you just going to run past without extending your greetings to the lord of this land?”

Crowley stood slowly, dusting herself off, buying some time while she got over the ringing in her head.

“I’m not here to kill every two-bit warlord in the Fade,” she said with no small amount of menace, “but if you insist on standing in my way, I will not disappoint you.”

The thing had the temerity to laugh as it slowly coalesced in her field of vision. A large, spiny thing-- Pride perhaps?-- crackling with energy and the palpable desire to kill.

“Very well then, Warden.” It snapped a hissing whip that appeared to be made of darkness and began to advance upon her. It had the opportunity to move approximately one stride before a howling demon launched itself from a nearby overhang and buried an oversized greatsword vertically into the thing’s head. The original demon fell over gurgling and flailing; the new one rode it down, leaping aside at the last moment, its armor clattering on the rocky ground.

_Armor._ Crowley’s chest was on fire, the amulet a beacon and more than warm to the touch.

“Alistair?” She tried again, more quietly this time as the figure picked itself up off of the ground and turned to face her.

“Fancy saving you here,” he said with a smile. “You know, I don’t even care if it isn’t YOU-you, I’m just glad to see something that isn’t a demon or a creature or some...  buggering thing with three faces and ten arseholes. Maker, I’ve missed you.”

There could be no denying it. Even without the amulet’s confirmation, no spirit of the Fade could sound so bloody daft and so perfect at the same time. She launched herself at him, clutching at his neck, hands in his hair; anywhere they could find purchase.

“I was so afraid I’d lost you,” she breathed, barely keeping it together. “You bloody idiot. To have Morrigan show up on my doorstep to say…”

Alistair had gone stock still.

“I’m sorry-- is this, actually YOU-you? Not some Fade trick to get me to drop my soul or something?”

This time, Crowley pulled away and slapped him. “You could have _died_! We still might! After ten years, I can’t actually leave you alone for one moment, can I?”

“I--” Alistair sputtered.  “I’m sorry?”

“Yes, you are!” Crowley was nearly shouting now, her face was flushed and both fists were balled tightly. “You let that woman leave you in the _Fade_ , Alistair bloody Theirin; how the fuck were you going to get out and come home to me?”

In a rush of movement he leaned forward and lifted her easily around the waist, spinning her in a wide circle, bellowing with laughter. After two revolutions he dropped to his knees, pressing his face to her neck.

“My amazing woman was going to come save my sorry arse is how,” he said, voice cracking. “I need to learn to stop being amazed. You’d think I’d have lear--” he didn’t get the word out. Her mouth was on his, the soft lips he had learned all about over the years, her small, strong hands holding tightly around his neck and shoulder, the familiar curves of her body in the worn leather armor he knew so well. All he could do was hold on.

###

The entire rift camp was startled into action by Meatball’s sudden, persistent barking.

It had been several days since she had arrived, and Naveera had been in the midst of checking in on the night’s rift watch, taking Oghren’s abuse and returning it with interest when it started. She’d had just enough time to issue orders to the men to come in closer to protect the rift before she sprinted to the tent where Crowley lay. The barking stopped as soon as she arrived, but Meatball was standing at attention, ruff on point, staring at his master.

The Amulet on the Warden’s chest was giving off a dazzling amount of light. Naveera crouched, cupped her cheek and knew immediately that she was still alive. She sat back on her heels and laid a hand on Meatball’s shoulder with relief. Leliana had arrived in little more than a blur of movement but the rustle of leaves not far off told Naveera she had not come alone.

“Is she--” Leliana asked, approaching carefully.

“Breathing,” Naveera answered, pressing her face to her forearm. “Glowing, but, still here.”

“Thank the Maker.” Leliana gestured to the shrubs and this time not even a rustle belied the rangers’ retreat. She lowered herself gracefully to a sit near Crowley’s head and sighed. “It’s been so long-- I wonder… I wonder whether we’ll see either of them again.”

Naveera took a seat opposite her. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

Meatball loosed a soft whine and laid down again, setting his head on Leliana’s lap. She tilted her head at the sleeping Warden. “You know, I was traveling with them when all of this started. The looks they gave each other, the settling in slowly closer around the fire at camp. The way they talked about each other.” She huffed a laugh. “The blushing! It was… adorable. Both so young. I really didn’t think it would last.” Leliana looked up. “And then he gave up a kingdom for her. It helped that he didn’t really want to it to begin with, but still.”

“And then they killed an Archdemon together,” Naveera supplied.

“And then they killed an Archdemon together!” Leliana echoed. “Cassandra would have swooned!”

“Of course you knew about that,” said Naveera with a chuckle. “I would never have guessed she was such a romantic when I first met her.”

“She is not as sly about hiding her copies of _Swords and Shields_ as she may think.” Leliana smiled and laid her own head on Meatball’s shoulder. There was a long pause.

“You know,” Naveera began with difficulty. “Leaving Alistair in the Fade-- it was bad enough, but after I received the Warden’s letter asking me to take care of him…” She cleared her throat. “It didn’t matter that he had volunteered, or that he wasn’t the only good soldier we lost. For me, he just became... I don’t know. All of the lives whose happy endings had ended, or would never begin. I took her letter everywhere with me after that. Sent it up in flames along with that bastard and his dragon, praying to never see its like again.”

Leliana sat up and reached for her hand in silence, and Naveera took it gratefully.

“That is what makes you great, my friend, and one of the many reasons you are our Inquisitor.” After a moment, Leliana sat back again. “Thank you. It’s hard to imagine losing her like this after everything else.”

“I don’t know if I’m actually helping,” Naveera admitted.

“You’re helping.”

“Well, _I_ can’t imagine she’s going to be very pleased to see me when she does wake up.”

“I wouldn’t worry.” Leliana chuckled. “I believe you are probably quick enough to avoid most of the blows.” Naveera huffed a laugh, then it was quiet again for a while. “You remind me of her sometimes, you know.”

“Would it be the large, pointy ears or the large, pointy daggers?” Naveera smiled to herself. “Taste in men, perhaps?”

“Determination,” Leliana said undeterred, “You move forward through the world as though nothing is out of reach, nothing impossible. Your capability for inspiring those around you. The other things are incidental… but intriguing now that you mention it.”  


“So essentially stubborn, headstrong elves,” Naveera evaded, embarrassed more by the assessment of her character than anything else.

“Among other things. Speaking of taste in men however-- the Commander is certainly waiting for you.”

“He will survive a while yet.” Naveera cast about for a rock that might be more comfortable than the one she was leaning against now. Meatball barked softly to get her attention and rolled his half-open eyes toward his flank. “You’re sure?” she asked the dog, and could swear he gave her the kind of pitying glance reserved for the terminally dimwitted.

“Alright, I understand,” she said and stood, circled around, then settled down next to his back.

“Tell me another tale of the Hero of Ferelden,” she said to Leliana, but it was Meatball that responded by nudging her knee.

“Hmm,” Leliana sighed, playfully shoving Meatball’s nudging nose. “I seem to recall a falling out after this beast defiled a statue of The Betrayer and the resultant comedy of trying to get food and rooms in a village that stood deeply divided on the issue…”

###

Eventually, Crowley and Alistair did stand and shake the Fade dust off of themselves, and found themselves walking hand in hand, like children.

“So-- you’re not actually here,” he asked, still trying to make sense of what she had told him. “And I’ve been here for how long now?”

“I am definitely here,” she answered, “I’m just not _physically_ here. Meatball is watching me sleep somewhere in the wilds outside of Haven. How long, I don’t know. I don’t even know how long _I’ve_ been here. You might fall out of that rift to find a shriveled old hag under the skeleton of a mabari.”

“Yes but you would be _my_ shriveled old hag. I’d miss Barkspawn though.” He hazarded a laugh, then a thought occurred to him. “Did the Inquisitor -- is Corypheus dead?”

“No idea,” she said dismissively. “I had bigger things to worry about. Dolt.”

He let the insult pass. Every time she was reminded of his predicament, her sentences tended to end in one, and he would not trade it for the world. Still--

“So, how do we know the rift is still there to be found?”

“I left Shale and Oghren in charge of protecting it.”

“So it’s completely safe unless they encounter a squadron of pigeons bearing good Ferelden ale,” he said with a nod. “But how did you know to come find me? You were out in the wilds Andraste-knows-where.”

“Morrigan,” she said simply. “It would appear that she either likes me more than she dislikes you, or that she’s grown soft in her motherhood.”

Alistair swallowed hard. “Did she, err-- did you see him?”

“No,” Crowley said, shaking her head. “Morrigan showed up in a flurry of crows and said she couldn’t stay long. She did tell me about him though. His name is Kieran.”

“That’s uh. That’s a good name,” he offered noncommittally.

Crowley rolled her eyes.

“Alistair, it’s alright to want to know. I would have liked to have met him too. He _is_ yours after all.”

“I just--” he stopped with a pained look. “It just seems unfair. We’ll be killing Darkspawn for the rest of our days-- no time for, err. Anything like that.”

Crowley squeezed his hand. “That’s what I’ve been fighting for, _vhenan’ara_. If we can make it out, and if Corypheus has not destroyed the world, then maybe… maybe what I’ve found will help us make that time.”

“We should _both_ have been fighting for it.” Alistair kissed the back of her hand to soften the rebuke and turned to resume their journey. “Alright. What’s the plan?”

She’d had her reasons, but he was right and years of experience told her there was no point in dwelling on the gentle _I-told-you-so_. The fight could come later after they were safely in the waking world. Crowley shrugged. “Find the rift on this side, shove you bodily out. Then I activate the amulet and wake up. No problems there.”

“Right. Easy. How do we find the rift?”

“Well-- Morrigan said the amulet would get me where I needed to be in the Fade, and keep me alive outside of it, so I suppose we follow it. She also said something about having new information, but too much; about needing time to sort it out.”

Alistair snorted indelicately. “Morrigan just being a mad witch, as usual.”

“I don’t know.” Crowley shook her head. “This was different; she looked distracted. Something is weighing on her, but she doesn’t want to talk.”  

“Not to steer away from my favorite topic of conversation, but--” Alistair kicked a misshapen skull out of his path. “If you’ve been walking a while, I imagine we’re in for a long trip.”

“I don’t actually know that, either. I _have_ been running for what seems like forever, but the Fade changes.” Crowley shrugged and shot him a bit of a smirk. “I’m also travelling somewhat incorporeally and you are somewhat solid. You might slow me down, who knows.”

“I’ve got it--” Alistair said brightly. “Since I’m already playing the part of the damsel, maybe you could just toss me over your shoulder?”

Crowley eyed him. “I could do that, you know.”

Alistair released her hand and began to walk more quickly. “I can move faster.”

“Can you? Are you sure?” she quickened her pace.

“To avoid being a sack of potatoes?” he called over his shoulder, lengthening his strides. “Yes, I believe I can.”

“I don’t remember the damsel ever running from her rescuer--” she called.

He began to jog, shouting, “It was a joke!”

Crowley grinned wickedly, lowered her head and ran to catch him.

###

Three more days and Naveera was now worrying that the lessening of creative insults from Oghren meant he was losing hope. She had tried to avoid the appearance of trudging to her tent after another long day, but she was weary and dispirited and annoyed, wondering how long she could go (mostly) unmissed at Skyhold. Josephine was already sending panicked missives about their making it back in time for the festivities she had planned; diplomats would have to be soothed and nobles would have to be entertained if they didn’t return soon, and someone should think of the time the seamstresses needed, for the Maker’s sake. Naveera was suddenly very glad to not be in the keep for her frenzied preparations.

She accepted a salute from the guard at her tent with a nod, pulled back the flap and found she was not alone.

“Good evening, my lady,” Cullen offered as he stood from his seat at the camp desk in the corner. Maps and dispatches covered the surface, already beginning to resemble his desk back at Skyhold.

“I am beginning to wonder if we shouldn’t make the attempt to do… _something_ … call in more of the Inquisition’s mages?” Naveera said without preamble. She unbuckled her armored coat and just let it fall behind her as she approached him, blade hilts clattering in a heap. “If only Solas had not bloody well disappeared--”

“But he did,” said Cullen as caught her up. “And we can have more mages here in the space of several days, but they will likely have the same problem that the ones already on the case are having-- no clue as to where to find them, if at all.” He pushed an errant strand of hair back from her face. “But you knew that already.”

“Yes,” she said, more sullen than became The Inquisitor. “It just seems useless to sit and wait. And yet, I couldn’t in good conscience leave without dealing with the rift even if I hadn’t sworn to join the vigil.”

Cullen’s hands kneaded her shoulders and the sides of her neck, and she shut her eyes.

“But I miss my bed. _Our_ bed.”

“This one works,” he asserted with a smile, tugging on her belts. “You’ll kill whatever needs killing tomorrow, Naveera. Let it go for now.”

She huffed a laugh. “Alright, yes. I’m done whining. Can we please be naked while I listen to _your_ woes for the day--”

Naveera’s sentence was cut off abruptly as her Mark pulsed hot, the first time in many months that it actually caused her pain. Her knees buckled, but Cullen supported her wiry frame with ease and she was back on her feet straight away. The Mark was giving off green sparks and they didn’t need to speak to know what needed to happen next.

She tightened her belt again as Cullen scooped up her coat and weapons. He held it out, Naveera slipped it all on and they set off back into the night.

###

The moment they had arrived at the rift, they had been overwhelmed with demons and horrors and all manner of Fade creatures longing for an exit. Crowley’s blades were a blur, hacking and slashing at impossible creatures and then darting out of the way, kicking aside smaller beasts to keep her daggers free for potentially more lethal enemies and always watching for the next demon to step or slither up. She glanced over her shoulder and could see Alistair at the rift, shielding his eyes and trying to press his hand through, and seemingly not making any headway.

“GO! Damn it, get out!” she shouted over the chaos, grunting with the effort of using a half-dismembered spider as a touchstone with which to leap out of the fray. “I’ll be right behind you!”

“I”m trying, woman!” Alistair shouted back. “I just can’t seem to get through!”

Crowley searched her memories for anything Morrigan might have mentioned about accessing the rift. “Have you tried-- OOF”

A huge, bark-scaled claw sent her flying into a pile of rock and bone. She took out the top six inches of loosely-packed material at impact and rolled over the top, scrambling to get back on her feet. The thing was enormous; gangly and jagged, it leapt to cover the distance between them and loomed over her.

“Come on you bastard, come and get it--” she growled, watching for the space between its knobby knees through which she could possibly slide and strike upward. Nothing survived a sacrificial knife through its nethers for too long. Crowley rebalanced herself and rushed it with a shout, only to find it gone as she struck.

“What the actual--”

Creatures were disappearing left and right of the rift, being touched by hazy green tendrils and lifted into spinning oblivion. Her eyes met Alistair’s across the field, desperate to work out how to get him through the hole in the Veil when a tendril scooped him up as well.

“NO!” she screamed, unable to make out what he was yelling back until it was too late. A huge claw was suddenly protruding from her middle -- _thankfully off-center and maybe it missed my gut proper_ , she had a moment to think before the sudden blaze of pain. Though weakened, Crowley had enough presence of mind to throw herself forward onto the hill and let gravity pull her off of the claw. Down the slope she went, rolling in an uncontrolled ass-over-teakettle spill, leaving a trail of bright crimson splotches behind her.

_Alstair._

Her survival instinct was strong, but having seen him sucked up by the rift placed her back into a state of total ignorance as to whether he was alive or dead all over again. Still, all she had to do to survive was wake up, and _that_ she could do. And if she had to come back for him again, so be it.

Crowley tried to stagger to her feet, fumbling for the amulet as the thing that struck her closed in. The pain was mind-numbing; just as incapacitating as it would be in the real world, and her fingers were slick with blood and gore, some of it now her own.

The creature’s tentacles closed around her, filling her torso with searing pain and pinning her arm to her chest. It made a sound that set her teeth on edge. She understood that it was laughing at her, and as she wrapped her fingers feebly around the amulet, Crowley mustered the strength to spit in the direction of what appeared to be the thing’s face.

“Send your master my kindest wishes to fuck directly off.”

###

Naveera raced to the rift and found it pulsating obscenely, respiring in some unknowable rhythm. Shale and Oghren were standing at the ready.

“Report,” she said automatically, and Oghren shot her one of the dirtiest looks she had ever seen, which was a feat in and of itself.

“Apologies. What’s going on, Warden?”

“Beats me,” Oghren spat and gestured. “Thing just started doing-- that. But last time it did that, we got a pack of demons out of it.”

“Sounds about right,” Naveera said with a nod. She could hear Cullen barking orders and rousing troops, and she shouted over her shoulder, “Ready, men!”

A clatter of weapons and shouts of approval rang out into the night. Oghren sniffed and turned his attention back to the rift, which now looked to be ready to burst. Naveera’s mark was hot and made her hand shake, and it took great effort to suppress the instinct to disrupt and close the rift permanently. Suddenly, Shale leaned her bulk toward the pulsing mass and pointed.

“Excuse me, various meatspawn, but is that Warden Alistair?”

Naveera squinted into the bright light and saw what appeared to be a human shape resembling the Warden reaching out from the rift without breaking through.

“Shit,” swore Oghren. “Sure looks like the kid. Doesn’t mean it’s him, though.” Naveera’s mind raced and she muttered to herself as she thought through the situation.

“He’s not going to get through on his own-- he needs someone on this side to pull him through, or for the rift to spit him out; Morrigan must have known that. So--” she held her Marked hand out. “They needed me here all along.”

“Inquisitor Fancy, don’t make me take your arm off,” Oghren bellowed, menacing her with his huge axe.

“I’m not closing it, Oghren!” she shouted over the rising tide of crackling energy, clattering weapons and whinnying horses. She thought back to the Temple of the Sacred Ashes and the original breach.

“I’m opening it. Brace yourselves.”

Oghren swore again and turned his attention back to the rift as a bolt of green lighting leapt from her hand to connect with the rift. Chain lightning cracks spawned at the top and cascaded downward, leaving breaches in the earth that spat gouts of flames followed by demons. Bristling horrors and slithering rage demons howled and laid into the assembled party as well as the outlying troops. Naveera pulled her blades and expertly stabbed a horror in a knee-like joint, staggering it in time for a flock of soldiers to surround it and slice into it. She whirled on the next creature and sidestepped it entirely, twisting to rip both daggers down its back with a cry of her own as the heat radiating from its core burst forth from the jagged tears. Shale joined her huge stone fists and pounded downward on its head, smashing it into the ground and finished it off with a mighty stomp. Naveera threw her a nod and shot past at the next foe, but was diverted as she somehow heard Leliana calling over the fury.

“INQUISITOR! He is here!”

Naveera didn’t need to be told who ‘he’ was. She ducked another horror, rolling under it to disappear into the chaos in the direction of Leliana’s voice and found her rimed with frost, standing between a floating creature and a figure prone upon the ground, shielding her eyes from the onslaught of ice. The Inquisitor reached skyward toward the rift, no longer worried about destroying it prematurely and again, green lightning flowed from her mark. The rift wobbled and sputtered, and all of the remaining demons swayed drunkenly, disoriented and vulnerable. Naveera rushed the creature pinning Leliana and sunk her blades into it, almost burned again-- this time by the bitter cold racing up her arms. In a flurry of whirling daggers, she circled it, jabbing and turning, staying under its reach until it shrieked an unholy wail as it dissipated into the failing rift.

The once-prone figure was up on his knees and trying to stand, coughing and shaking his head as though clearing a fog. Leliana bent and offered a supporting shoulder and he clutched at her.

“Crowley?”

“Alistair, no. She is--  


“Where?” He launched himself to his feet and really looked at the woman in front of him. “Leliana? Leliana. Where is she?

“There-- the tent,” supplied Naveera, pointing in the direction of the tent she’d had erected over the original makeshift shelter. Alistair wasted no time in rushing forward, only to fall over again. Naveera and Leliana each took an elbow and hauled him to his feet.

“I have to get to her,” he groaned.

A shout went up amongst the troops. Naveera glanced over her shoulder to find a massive beast materializing under the serrated edges of the rift.

“Go,” Leliana shouted, leaning in to take more of Alistair’s weight. “I can get him there.”

Naveera lingered, reluctant to leave them, but the shrieks behind her could not be borne and the rift had to be dealt with. There was nothing left to be said. She nodded at Leliana and sprinted off in the direction of the creature and her own troops.

###

The last thing Alistair had seen was the creature closing on Crowley, spearing her with its horrific mass of claws and inflicting what would surely be a fatal wound in reality if not magically treated on the spot. She had to wake before the creature finished her and yet his legs were as slow in responding to the urgent orders he was giving them as though he was fresh from a month-long voyage at sea. Leliana half-dragged him toward the tent where he could hear Meatball’s rumbling growl.

“Wake her up, boy! Get her!” Alistair called out to the mabari, leaning on Leliana less and less as he regained command of his feet. Meatball’s growling turned into a frantic whine of both joy and concern.

As soon as they entered the tent, Alistair released Leliana and sank to his knees at Crowley’s side. Her lips were moving through heaving breaths, and the amulet on her chest that was ablaze again. Meatball was furiously licking her cheek and nudging her chin, whining and growling, pawing at her shoulder. He paused to eye Alistair, yelped with excitement and then resumed his efforts to wake his master.

Alistair pulled the upper half of her body onto his lap and cradled her head. Crowley hadn’t said anything about what to do once he was out, or how the bloody hell she was supposed to awaken, but it was clear she was having some sort of difficulty. A loud groan escaped her lips as her back arched; Meatball began to bark madly, sounding as panicked as Alistair felt. He exchanged a look with Leliana and made the only decision he could.

“Maker preserve us,” Leliana breathed, then continuing to murmur what sounded like some prayer or another under her breath.

He closed Crowley’s hand around the amulet, wrapped his fingers around hers, then took hold of the chain with the other hand and yanked them apart. Her eyes shot open as the amulet came free and she sat bolt upright with a cry, only to collapse again onto her side, panting and scrabbling at the ground.

“No, no, no, I have to-- I have to get home, I can’t--”

“Crowley!” Alistair shouted, gathering her to himself with what could only be described as a sob. “Love, you’re here. We’re home.” Crowley blinked hard and clutched at him with what sounded like a shaky laugh. Meatball barked with joy, jumping up and lowering his front paws to the ground. His stubby tail was wagging so wildly, his entire posterior swayed from side to side.

Leliana released a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, dropped her hand briefly on Alistair’s head and then moved to stand outside the tent. The sound of steel and electricity and unholy bestial mayhem was still wafting across from the rift, and Leliana resumed her quiet prayers.

###

It was only about an hour after sunrise and Naveera sat crosslegged on their camp bed, watching him sleep. Mostly open-mouthed and drooling a bit, Cullen twitched and muttered, but it did not appear to be the fierce lyrium dream that motivated him today. More likely was that it was the huge goose egg on the back of his head that was causing some discomfort, even in his slumber. He’d been out for a while, but the healers had managed to get some malodorous potions into his slack jaw, and had assured her he would be just fine. As such, she was mostly content to wait.

Naveera had the reports of the prior evening’s casualties in front of her and could hear the men laboring outside the tent, tending to the wounded and organizing themselves for the day ahead. Miraculously, none of the troops had been lost outright in the fighting, though two were injured grievously and still struggling, and another of the men managed to misplace an arm below the elbow. Outside of that, they were lucky-- just a large handful of injuries barely worth reporting and a camp full of exhausted troops. She had personally checked in with the healers and walked amongst the troops, ordered double rations for the day, sent rangers out in search of fresh meat, and sent scouts back to Skyhold to tell Josephine they would be back within the week, barring unforeseen circumstances. It had been a busy morning, to say the least.

“Muh,” said Cullen, his hand flapping and knocking aside the notes on her knee. “Whuh-- Oww.” He gingerly reached for the back of his head, eyes still shut.

“Be still,” said Naveera, leaning over her lap in his direction. “You managed to take quite a wallop, Commander.”

His hand diverted from its path and came up instead, following the sound of her voice to catch her cheek.

“You’re in one piece, that’s what matters.”

“I’ve dealt with enough of those rifts and hundreds of those demons without nearly killing my best general in the process, you know.”

“I’m your _only_ general.” He opened his eyes. “And I wasn’t going to let it near you.”

“I am entirely capable of taking care of myself on my own, Cullen. I’ve been doing it all my life.”

“And I love that about you, but you shouldn’t have to do it on your own. Not any more.”

It was ridiculous how deeply that affected her. She popped up on her knees, heedless of the missives smashed around her and leaned in, splaying a hand on his chest.

“I will _always_ have to, but thank you. You are however welcome to join in any time you like.”

He chuckled, “Good enough,” and slid his hand up into her hair to pull her down for a kiss, shifting his body to take her weight. Neither noticed the sudden increase of sunlight.

“Inquisitor. News--”

“Ten minutes, soldier,” Naveera growled.

“Twenty,” corrected Cullen in a voice that equally brooked no argument. The light was not gone as it should have been.

“Apologies, sers, but the Wardens would like to see you. Should I tell them to wait?”

Naveera and Cullen exchanged a glance-- she frowned; he rolled his eyes upward with a groan.

“Let them know we’re on our way,” she said.

“At once, Your Worship,” the soldier said and disappeared from sight.

“This had better be good.”

###

Naveera eyed Crowley as they approached one another; an elf like herself, she seemed rougher somehow; built larger but still poised and armored for swift, decisive, agile combat. She saluted across her chest and bowed.

“Warden Theirin, it brings me no end of relief to see you well and with us again. Warden Tabris, it is my honest pleasure to properly make your acquaintance, even under these circumstances. The Inquisition is at your service.”

Crowley looked alert and unimpressed, yet was entirely civil with her return bow.

“Thank you and well met, Inquisitor.”

Alistair huffed a laugh and offered her a hand. “Not for the lack of trying, Inquisitor, yet I am sorely glad to be here as well.”

“I understand you and Commander Rutherford have met?” Both Wardens softened quite a bit at that.

“Of course,” said Alistair and stepped forward to grip his forearm. “It is good to see you again, friend.”

“However did you fall in with this lot?” Crowley asked as she did the same.

“Blame Leliana,” he said lightly, glossing over the real implications of his having left the order. “I’m in high demand and she’s persistent.”

“So, a story for another time,” Crowley said with a small smile. “Very well. I’ll take this one for now.”

There was much Naveera wanted to say, many things she wanted to air out, and yet it seemed she could only follow a script of formalities and prescribed conversation. She heaved a great inward sigh just in time for Meatball to bound up to her and drop a rather damp stick at her feet with a joyful bark. He panted happily and leaned back slightly, waiting. Naveera was really beginning to think she might need to acquire a mabari of her own, if only for his great skill at defusing awkward silence. She grinned hugely and crouched down to meet him and plant her hands on both sides of his face.

“Great overgrown _fenlen_ ,” she said cheerfully, skritching his ears. Meatball chuffed and bumped her with his wet nose, then whined again at the stick on the ground. She picked it up and threw it as far as she could, and Meatball was after it in a flash.

“Giant Nugs, Battle-trained Mabari, Tevinters, Qunari, Dracolisks... Is there any frightening animal you won’t befriend?” Cullen asked with bemusement.

Naveera shrugged. “Bears apparently do not like me very much.”

“Bears don’t like anyone very much,” Alistair supplied.

“I also have a poor record with Wardens.”

Crowley snorted indelicately and placed her hands on her hips.

“An understatement, ser.”

Naveera straightened up.

“Regardless,” Crowley continued. “I wanted to extend my personal thanks for your assistance here.”

“ _Our_ personal thanks,” Alistair added.

Crowley continued. “I realize it was a burden to keep you for so long, and I wanted to let you know before we set off that I--” she shot a look at Alistair, “--we are in your debt. Thank you.” She offered Naveera a hand.

“I can’t say it was my pleasure,” said Naveera, who took it firmly. “But a worthwhile endeavor and I am honored that I could assist. We are however currently planning to leave for Skyhold keep on the morrow, and I would be equally honored if you and the whole of your party consented to join us as my personal guests. I would very much like for the Inquisition to host and shelter you while you recover, and I would personally like to see that you are well resupplied before resuming your journeys.”

“I believe we may take you up on that offer,” said Crowley at the same time that Alistair answered, “Thank you, but I believe we should be getting home.” They stopped and looked at each other.

“What? Really?” Alistair said, incredulous, “Skyhold will be crawling with nobles that you personally just said you didn’t want anything to do with.”

“And you just said it was time to stop skulking for a change and reach out for some assistance, and they’ve got a tower full of mages,” Crowley said, just as confused.

“Err, if I may--” said Cullen, “We do have a tower full of mages. You’re welcome to borrow them. Along with a random Tevinter mage whom the Inquisitor seems to have befriended, and a mad little dwarven arcanist that speaks highly of both of you but should probably not be allowed near explosives. We also have a Witch of the Wilds in residence at the moment, though circumstances being what they are, she may or may not be as serious a deterrent as the nobles who will unfortunately also be waiting for us.”

Naveera smiled graciously and nodded in agreement, but she still aimed a discreet toe stomp in Cullen’s direction.

“There’s that,” Crowley said quietly. She and Alistair held each others’ gazes for a moment longer, then Alistair nodded.

“Thank you,” said Crowley, turning her attention back to Naveera. “It is we who would be honored. If you could assist further, however-- we would like to draw as little attention as possible to our presence…”

“Understood, Warden,” Naveera said. “I will send word to my seneschal that we will be traveling with a small contingent of Grey Wardens sent by Weisshaupt to assess our wardens in residence. This should not raise any undue attention, considering the situation. Leliana can also assist in controlling the rumors, though there are quite a few men here to tell the tale as they have experienced it. Still, we shall do our best.”

“Then you have my thanks again, Inquisitor.”

“Excellent,” said Cullen with a nod. “Should you require anything before our departure, please do not hesitate to see the quartermaster or myself. If you’ll excuse me, however--”

“I’ll come with you,” said Alistair quickly. “I’d like the chance to catch up and perhaps be of some assistance.”

“By all means,” Cullen said. They excused themselves again and set off.

There were very good reasons Cullen remained commander of the Inquisition forces, and at least one of them was that he knew exactly when to vacate the field. Naveera smiled, tentatively. “Might you have a moment to walk with me, Warden?”

“Crowley, please.” said the Warden with a nod, as she crouched to retrieve the stick for Meatball again. “‘Warden’ begins to sound maddeningly unspecific.”

“Thank the Maker,” said Naveera, gesturing toward the valley as they began to walk. “I thought I was the only one who was getting a bit tired of being addressed by title. Naveera, please. Unless you still plan the attempt to pummel me, in which case I quite understand if you’d prefer more colorful descriptors, and but you’ll have to be exceedingly lucky because I’m quick.”

Crowley loosed a peal of laughter and suddenly seemed less a living legend and more a living person.

“I had many choice words for you for a very long time, the least of which was ‘Inquisitor’. But… well. Morrigan may have made me aware of what happened at Adamant Fortress, yet it was not until I spoke with Alistair at length that I really understood the full scope of Clarel’s folly there…” She paused, and shook her head. “I’m still taking it in to be honest. But I no longer blame you. I could blame Alistair for being an idiot and volunteering to stay behind, but in the end, I trust his judgment and his motivation. As such, I am left with only one person to blame-- and you managed to beat me to killing him dead, mangling his corpse and setting it on fire. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Corypheus had much for which to answer,” Naveera grumbled. There was really nothing she could say to seriously encompass the very real terror that the creature had fostered in every living thing that faced him, and as such there was only room to make light of it. “It seems unfair that all I could do was mangle and set him on fire. Especially after the bugger attempted to toss me bodily from a promontory and sicced a lyrium-crazed dragon on me. The nerve.”

Crowley laughed again and though her words were playful, Naveera could tell there was more than a grain of truth to them.

“I am well-acquainted with that feeling. I find the relief of being done with it tends to ease the indignation after a while.”

“I shall bow to your experience in this matter,” said Naveera with a smile.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Crowley said emphatically. “Don’t bow to anyone, Herald. The way Leliana tells it, you’re shaping up to be the “Savior of Thedas”. Apparently “Hero” and “Champion” as honorifics were taken, so you acquired the grander title.”

“I have no idea how to feel about that,” Naveera said, unable to control the rush of color to her face. “I may however throttle Varric.”

“I understand he does invite that feeling amongst his closest friends, but don’t hold it against him. People need… people like us. A little too much, perhaps; by the time I arrived here, rumor had it you were ten feet tall and picked your teeth with vargheest spines.”

“Ha! I’d heard similar about you. The whole world has, really.”

“Give it time.”

Meatball ran up and dropped the stick at Naveera’s feet this time. She smiled and turned to Crowley.

“Do they make more of these charming beasts? Because I’ve decided that my nug needs a traveling companion.”

“Oh yes,” Crowley said, not bothering to conceal her amusement. “I know a gentleman in Denerim that would be happy to assist. And it will only cost you one of those dracolisks Cullen mentioned; if you can spare one that is.”

“You, madam, have a deal,” grinned Naveera.

###

Pleasantly full, tired, and grateful that she would be on her way come morning, Naveera leaned on a tree at the edge of the camp as she watched some of the men engage in impromptu tomfoolery. They were backlit by what remained of the huge fire that had been built to roast the rams the hunters had brought back, and their laughter and song rang through the valley.

“You should have heard the tales of your prowess spreading around the camp today.” Cullen had taken up a mirror of her pose against the tree less than a gentle stone’s throw away, and though he was looking out over the camp, she could make out the upturned corner of his mouth and the faint marks on his cheek. “The way I understand it, you singlehandedly killed the first five or ten or so demons that emerged from the rift ‘in a blur of whirling death’, swooped in and saved the Wardens, heroically defended the soldier who lost his arm until the other men could pull him from the horde of nightmares to safety, tore the beast that downed me limb from limb with your bare hands, used its carcass to bludgeon another before stabbing it dead with a flaming dagger, and then closed the rift.”

“Between you and I, I perhaps did half of those things not quite so dramatically.” She smiled ruefully. “I’ll never tell which, though.”

“Well done. It’s good for the troops see their Inquisitor fighting demons alongside them as though she were possessed of the strength of ten men. Makes them feel invincible by proxy.”

“That’s ten _soldiers_ , thank you,” Naveera said. “And yes. Best to be acquainted first hand with the fact that I am not just an outstanding leader and a pretty face.”

“I myself am often in awe of how all of those things fit together so well, and how we managed to find the perfect Inquisitor to lead us through.” Cullen turned to face her and crossed his arms. “And how I managed to convince you to be mine.”

Naveera turned to face him as well, placing her hands behind her lower back in order to keep a grip on the tree trunk, as though it was the only thing holding her up. “I may have done some of the convincing.”

He eyed her openly, assessing her head to foot, broke his stance and approached her. Naveera’s pulse began to race wildly, the blood rushing in her veins and blooming hot under her skin as Cullen placed his hand on the tree trunk over her shoulder. The fingers of his free hand trailed down her neck and chest to her stomach, slowly wending their way along her low-slung belt to find her hip.

“You never had to convince me. I daresay it was more akin to crooking your smallest finger in my direction.”

“Just my smallest finger?” she said with a wicked grin, running her hand up his arm and letting it rest on his bicep.

“Just so,” he rumbled and kissed her; long and slow, it blocked out all sounds and surroundings and became a microcosm of everything Naveera wanted exactly at that moment and well into the immediate future. Her hands migrated to his shoulders and clutched at his shirt, her feet barely touched the ground and her breath came in shallow intervals between the touch of his lips to hers. Time passed, or perhaps did not; Naveera did not care until she finally did, pulling away flushed and aching and quietly struggling to catch a breath. She ran a hand through his hair and he turned his face to kiss the inside of her wrist, murmuring again, “Just so.”

Naveera would not be able to disappear into the shadows as the Hero had; she would have to learn to inhabit the Inquisitor’s throne properly and to embrace the destiny that had been thrust upon her. All of this however, could wait. An unrelated yet well-timed whoop sounded from the men around the fire and she smiled hugely at him.

“Let’s go home.”


End file.
